“Auntie!” she cried, sharply.  “Aunt Thankful, where are you?”

“I’m—­I’m here, Emily.  That is, I guess—­yes, I’m here.”

“But why is it so dark?  Where is the lantern?”

“The lantern?” Mrs. Barnes was trying to speak calmly but, between agitation and loss of breath, she found it hard work.  “The lantern?  Why—­it’s—­it’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?  What do you mean?  Where has it gone?”

“It’s gone—­gone out.  There wa’n’t enough oil in it to last any longer, I suppose.”

“Oh!” Emily sat up.  “And you’ve been sitting here alone in the dark while I have been asleep.  How dreadful for you!  Why didn’t you speak to me?  Has anything happened?  Hasn’t that man come back yet?”

It was the last question which Thankful answered.  “No.  No, he ain’t come back yet,” she said.  “But he will pretty soon, I’m sure.  He—­he will, Emily, don’t you fret.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, Auntie.  I am too sleepy to worry, I guess.”

“Sleepy!  You’re not goin’ to sleep again, are you?”

Mrs. Barnes didn’t mean to ask this question; certainly she did not mean to ask it with such evident anxiety.  Emily noticed the tone and wondered.

“Why, no,” she said.  “I think not.  Of course I’m not.  But what made you speak in that way?  You’re not frightened, are you?”

Thankful made a brave effort.

“Frightened!” she repeated, stoutly.  “What on earth should I be frightened of, I’d like to know?”

“Why, nothing, I hope.”

“I should say not.  I—­Good heavens above!  What’s that?”

She started and clutched her companion by the arm.  They both listened.

“I don’t hear anything but the storm,” said Emily.  “Why, Auntie, you are frightened; you’re trembling.  I do believe there is something.”

Thankful snatched her hand away.

“There isn’t,” she declared.  “Of course there isn’t.”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“Me?  Nervous!  Emily Howes, don’t you ever say that to me again.  I ain’t nervous and I ain’t goin’ to be nervous.  There’s no—­no sane reason why I should be and I shan’t.  I shan’t!”

“But, Auntie, you are.  Oh, what is it?”

“Nothin’.  Nothin’ at all, I tell you.  The idea!” with an attempt at a laugh.  “The idea of you thinkin’ I’m nervous.  Young folks like you or rich old women are the only ones who can afford nerves.  I ain’t either young nor rich.”

Emily laughed, too.  This speech was natural and characteristic.

“If you were a nervous wreck,” she said, “it would be no wonder, all alone in the dark as you have been in a deserted house like this.  I can’t forgive myself for falling asleep.  Whose house do you suppose it is?”

Aunt Thankful did not answer.  Emily went on.  Her short nap had revived her courage and spirit.

“Perhaps it is a haunted house,” she said, jokingly.  “Every village has a haunted house, you know.  Perhaps that’s why the stage-driver warned us not to go into it.”